


Sand Wolf

by AidansQueen



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Brief mention of a major character death, F/F, F/M, Multi, Oberyn Martell defeats Gregor Clegane, Sansa is aged up
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-13
Updated: 2015-01-13
Packaged: 2018-03-07 09:16:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,715
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3169517
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AidansQueen/pseuds/AidansQueen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She hid in the deep of the Dornish desert to escape who she is, only to find that in Dorne, being who she is might be very useful.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sand Wolf

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I don't own anything or make any money from any of it. All of it belongs to those who created Game of Thrones.

She sees him before he sees her and she feels panic rip through her sharper than any blade. She spent a year out in this hot and miserable Dornish desert, hiding with a band of sellswords. In Dorne they respect women as equals, and they saw her no differently when she came to them and asked to be trained.  It was hell at first, it was hot and miserable, they made her run and carry and fetch in the heat until her limbs ached. Their leader was testing her, she knew that. He knew the truth of her, he was the only one to know and he wanted her to prove to him she really wanted this life. After a week of what she felt like was pure torture he relented and gave her armor and a sword. He names her Nadira Sand and helps her concoct a false story of her childhood and upbringing.

               Within a year she was training his new recruits, and she was a valuable member of the company. _This was the life_ , Sansa had thought after that year had passed. She was free to do as she wanted, be whoever she wanted…she never had to go back.  It hadn’t been easy at first, in the beginning she was black blue before the first week of training was over. She had no upper body strength so that had to be remedied before she could even bother swinging a sword. She trained like the Dornish did, she was taught with a spear first because it was lighter and then a sword when she had the strength for it. The men laughed at first, there weren’t many women who came out all this way to train and most quit after the first month or so. Sansa tried not to quit, despite the jeers and the laughter. Eventually they’re laughter turned to quiet respect, and from that respect she earned friendship. She kept her distance though, she was leery of them even though they treated her as a fellow sellsword.

They called her _sand wolf_ in a playful way, because she weaved wolf pelts into her brown leather armor, in honor of her lost family. She was in truth a wolf lost in the Dornish desert, surrounded by sellswords from every different part of the world.

She watches him as his bannermen set up their tents and he pulls off his armor. It seems as though Saris, the leader of her company knows the Prince. He doesn’t see her till later that evening and when he does see her she knows he remembers her. Her hair was longer now, sweeping just past her waist and twisted back like a horses tail in tight braids along her scalp and down through the tail of her fiery red hair. She pretends that she doesn’t know him; she serves her supper and retreats to the darkest corner of the campsite, farthest from the firelight so the Prince cannot see her face so easily. He’s brought cases of Dornish red wine along with several loaves of sweet honey bread. The men drink and feast and laugh as the Prince tells them stories, Sansa herself listens just as intently though she tries not to appear _too_ fascinated by his tales.

Eventually she retreats into her tent and drifts to sleep upon the sound of men’s voices and laughter. Despite the music and noise she can sleep, she’s slept through sandstorms and thunderstorms that swept across the desert at random during the year. She is awoken later by the feel of someone walking across the blankets on the floor of her tent, feels the material of the tent shift as someone enters. She is tempted to go for the dagger under her pillow, ready to strike like a wolf upon its prey but she restrains that urge. It wouldn’t be the first time someone has wandered into her tent by accident, or needed to wake her up for an errand.

“Easy, Lady Sansa…I mean you no harm,” his voice is just as she remembers it, deep and smooth like silk. She sits up in the darkness and searches for him, finds him perched against the pillows at the other end of her bed. He looks like he belongs there, relaxed with his legs stretched out before him, crossing them lazily as he pops a grape in his mouth.

“What do you want?” She gets right down to it, there wasn’t any point in pleasantries for her anymore, and she didn’t care about being a Lady anymore. This world took women like she was and destroyed them…she couldn’t afford to be such a person anymore. Kindness got you killed in Westeros.

He smiles at her and this makes her leery, she wonders what he is planning in the secret thoughts of his mind.  “I wanted to talk to you…but you hid yourself away in here before I could.”

“I just want to be left alone Prince Oberyn…really….I’m not a Lady anymore,” Sansa pleads quietly, “I’m nobody anymore.”

“A nobody…perhaps…in Westeros that is….they have taken everything from you….you are all that remains of the Stark family. A Bolton rules over your Father’s lands…everything that should have been yours. Here in Dorne however…" he smiles at her before continuing, "and as for being a Lady…I think we both know that you are a still a….. _lady_.” he smiles at her and she doesn’t like where this is going.

“Dragging me back to Sunspear and ransoming me to the Lannisters will get you nowhere,” Sansa scowls at him and blinks at the mixture of contempt and anger that flashes across his face at the mention of the Lannisters.

“I would not trade a bucket of horse shit to those monsters Lady Sansa, let alone an eighteen year old girl living as a bastard child and sellsword in the middle of the Dornish desert.”

She doesn’t grimace at his harsh words, they don’t bother her anymore. They did once, when she was a different person in a different life, but now she can swear just as good as the next person. He is peeling a piece of fruit with a dagger from his belt and gazing at her thoughtfully, breaking off pieces of fruit and popping them into his mouth.

“Then _what do you want_?” Sansa says, exasperated, a mixture of simply wanting to go back to bed and wanting to throw him bodily from her tent.

He smiles and is silent for a little longer than is comfortable. Finally he says “What makes you think I want anything other than the pleasure of your company? Though now that you ask…I do have a proposal for you.”

“A proposal?” Sansa says skeptically, sitting up in the darkness. She doesn’t wear much to sleep so she imagines despite the faint moonlight flickering through cracks in the tent, the Prince was probably getting a very nice view. She doesn’t care anymore of course, she’s had to strip bare ass naked before in the river to bath. The men know better than to bother her, least they want to lose important parts of their anatomy. She can see his eyes warm and dark darting across her form and ignores the slow smirk curving his lips.

“Dorne is uniting it’s forces with that of Daenerys Targaryen, I’m sure you’ve heard,” he says and spares her a glance before continuing, “One of my men told another of men and so on that a pretty red haired girl was among their ranks, living as a sellsword. I knew that you had gone missing and as red hair is not common in Dorne…I came to see for myself. You leader…Saris told me of you when I wrote to him and so here I am. He will not lie to me…we are old friends…he trusts me.”

“And what do I have to do with any of this?” Sansa narrows her eyes at him but for some reason she is hypnotized by the way he slides the fruit into his mouth. He is a handsome man, dark skin and burning eyes. His hair has grown out since she last saw him, thick dark curls hanging down near his chin.

“I propose this…we will drink wine and eat sweet bread…and then tomorrow we will leave this place and you will come back with me to Sunspear. My family will cloth you and feed you and give a warm place to lay your head at night. Once you’ve shaken the sand from your hair and from your clothes you will marry me in the sept. This would give the Targaryen queen control of the north and the Riverlands…not to mention the Vale. In turn you would be given back your home…and when all is said and done you can remain my wife…or I will let you go. It is your decision...I will not hold you against your will.”

“I could go free…” Sansa says hesitantly.

“Free to run right back into this miserable desert if that’s what you wish…free to go back to Westeros…it doesn’t matter to me either way,” he shrugs, watching her curiously to see her response.

He was twice her age but he was still very handsome. He made good points; it would be a strong political move. She would rather see a Targaryen on that throne then let another Lannister monster sit upon it a moment longer.  She dreamt on the long hot nights of Cersei Lannister’s head on a spike, rotting in the Dornish heat. She’d dreamt them all dead again and again, until rage was consuming her like dragon fire. Saris had warned her about it before, he said that it does no good to let such rage burn; It would only destroy her in the end.

“You killed Gregor Clegane…” Sansa says, watching the Dornish prince quirk an eyebrow at her.

“I did….and your former husband was sent into exile…he’s in Essos…if you’re curious that is,” he tells her and watches her contemplate this.

“How did you know…” Sansa trails off as his voice cuts in.

“I know that you murdered littlefinger….I know that he annulled that marriage before he betrothed you to others…who also were killed although not by your hand.”

“He tried to rape me,” Sansa blurts out angrily, her cheeks flushing hot in anger, “I slit his throat because he tried to rape me.”

“Then he got what he deserved,” The red viper nods another flash of anger dancing behind his eyes, his body stiffening at her confession.  When she doesn’t say anything else he presses a little further, “So what do you think of my proposal?”

The idea of watching the Lannisters burn sounded appealing. She wasn’t sure when she’d gotten such a vengeful streak in her, but Daenerys had three dragons, and that brought a pleased smile to Sansa’s lips. To watch them all burn as she was made to watch her family be murdered, to be stripped naked and tortured before the court…she wanted nothing more in the world to watch them all burn.

“I take it you like the idea?” he says and she realizes she’s smiling just a little too keenly.

“Will I bear you children?” Sansa isn’t going to beat around the bush anymore; she’s too old for those silly games now. She wants to know the facts; she’s not going to skirt around them.

“Only if you want too,” he tells her thoughtfully, her question must has surprised him, “I will release you if you want me too, whether or not we consummate our marriage.”

That was an open invitation...is he implying…. _he is_ …

“I would be…what would I be if I married you…I don’t think Daenerys is keen on Starks these days…”

“You will be my wife and princess,” he points out, “a princess of Dorne and she will _not_ touch you.”

She couldn’t deny the benefits of this arrangement. Dorne would make out with a lot of land and she would be a Princess of Dorne, she would be safe...and she’d be the Red Viper’s wife to boot…nobody would _dare_ touch her. She watches him watching her and debates the offer. It was a really good offer…not one she’d probably ever get again. He seemed like a decent man, or so the stories claimed. The only downside was she’d be forced back into the game, back into that horrible game of thrones, back into the battle for a ridiculous iron throne made of broken swords. “What about you’re Paramour? I know you care for her…the stories are all the same. I would not want to interfere with that.  Love is already hard to find in this world…I would not want to be the cause of its destruction.”

“We’ve already spoken and she agrees to my marriage to you. Ellaria does not mind…and she likes to share… If you are willing to share and be shared that is…of course… if you do not care for women she will not force anything on you that you do not want.”

How long had he been planning this? Sansa thinks as meets his gaze. He has discussed this with his paramour already…which means Dorne itself and Prince Doran must know what he’s doing out here right now. As she is the last Stark standing…she alone must make the decision to align the north with Dorne, and she knew her answer.

“I will agree to marry you…” Sansa says and watches the pleased look spread across his face, “and….as for women…” Sansa blushes faintly, “ I don’t mind sharing…I would not get between you and your paramour.”

“Really?” he smiles and cocks his head to one side, “That is good to hear. I figured you would not mind Ellaria….I know you stop in the sighing houses just the same as any of your fellow sellswords at times.”

“I don’t go in there for…” Sansa stammers all of a sudden, surprised that he knows such secrets about her… _how did he know_? “What I mean to say is that I don’t go in there for….men….I….well I…”

“You like the women to kiss your flower because you would not give yourself to a man and lose your  virtue,” he grins at her, “I know….I know most of the brothel owners in Dorne…they tell me anything I want to know. You favor a woman named Raza….you and Ellaria have similar taste. That woman is very talented with her tongue.”

Sansa wanted to crawl under the blankets and hide….she was brave but not brave enough to have this conversation with a man she hardly knew. When she doesn’t say anything he continues, “I’m surprised you did not go to her this evening…the owner tells me you come in once a month or so…for supplies…for pleasure,” he grins at her, “to run errands for Saris.”

The pieces were on the board…now was her time to move. She hated playing this game…but Sansa knew if she planned on being married to this man…she might as well get the hardest part out of the way first. He wasn’t a particularly strict man, he liked pleasure and was more relaxed than most so when she climbed into his lap she wasn’t surprised to feel his warm hands on her hips and smile on his lips. He’d all but openly offered for nearly an hour now…the mention of Raza was enough.  She could not give him her body till they wed, he was a Prince and the sept would demand proof of her virtue.  So instead she kissed him, and she liked the way he kissed her, the way his tongue slid against hers, the way his hair felt sliding through her fingers. She liked the way he lay her down on her back and rested his weight against her, her legs sliding along his sides and down over his backside.

When he kissed her flower it wasn’t anything like the ways Raza did it. He used his tongue and his fingers, he sucked at the tender bit of flesh just above her entrance and smiled against her thighs as she screamed out, slicking his fingers with her release.  They explore each other, and she likes that. He lets her touch and explore his body in the darkness of the early morning hours, is awed at his sharp intake of breath, her fingers and tongue curling delicately around his cock.  She doesn’t even know what she’s honestly doing, and she doesn’t think she’d even mind if this were all a hoax and tomorrow he’d leave and she’d never see him again. She would get to spend the rest of her days knowing she had such a beautiful man in her bed, it would become a happy memory and she would hopefully make more someday with someone else.

               When she wakes in the morning and he is asleep beside her, backside bare to her as he sleeps soundly on his stomach she can’t help but be a little pleased. It takes her a few minutes to find her clothes, at some point they’d stripped naked in their exploration of each other. The hardest part was over, Sansa thinks as she watches him sleep. If she ever decided to consummate their marriage being naked wasn’t going to be an issue with him.

 

               When she returns later hauling water buckets up from the river his men are packing up and he’s waiting for her with Saris. His men already packed up all her things and loaded them onto her horse.  Saris knew then…she thinks….or he even set this up.

She says her goodbyes to Saris and his company, mounts her horse and follows Oberyn’s bannermen back to Sunspear. She is nervous…this was crazy….along the way she had many moments where she doubted his honesty and nearly turned back. What if this was just a trick to get her to come willingly? Then again she imagined Oberyn Martell wouldn’t need to do that if that was the case. He’d tie her up and sling her over a horse faster than she could pull her blade.

She sorely hoped this wasn’t a trap…

* * *

 

 

It wasn’t a trap much to her relief. It was days lounging on a chaise on the balcony of her own private apartments in the warm sun, eating fruit and drinking dornish red wine. It was soft beautiful gowns in Martell yellow and orange; it was dinner with his family and arrangements for the wedding. It was tours of Sunspear and the village surrounding it, and questions that long needed to be answered such as _What really happened to Rhaenys Targaryen?_ Questions that were asked in the privacy of her apartments, where she and Oberyn sat on the balcony and drank together, Ellaria sprawled on the chaise she sat upon, the beautiful woman’s head in Sansa’s lap.

Sansa was keen to know what happened to Rhaenys and was quiet proud to be the only one that really knew apart from the Martells.

Mind you…when this was all over she almost wanted to go to Aegon the Conquerer’s tomb and whisper the secret to him…perhaps Sansa thought… _perhaps_ it would bring him a measure of peace. Perhaps it would give him closure whereas she had so very little with her own family.

When they married a week later she spent her wedding night with him in his private bedchambers at the Water Gardens. Sex wasn’t something she feared anymore; in fact at that point she wanted him quiet a lot. They took their time, learning each other’s bodies and exploring every curve and pleasure.

Eventually he had her ready for him, achingly so that when he finally made her his, the pain was miniscule compared to the bliss of completion, the ach to have him in her and on her and around her.

When the morning comes they are a tangle of limbs and bed sheets and Ellaria comes in to strip the sheets right off their naked bodies with a laugh. Sansa is baths in warm water to sooth the ache in her limbs and dresses herself in soft flowing material, curving against her breasts and filling out around her towards the floor.  When she eats breakfast with her two new friends, her new husband and his paramour, she thinks that this could work, that living in Sunspear will be pleasant.

* * *

 

 

The war is gruesome and violent as all wars are. They take the north back with fire and blood…( _because Winter is coming_ ) Sansa likes to add whenever Daenerys uses the phrase.  Dany, as Sansa has taken to calling her isn’t as hateful as she was made out to be. Dany is resentful of her at first but eventually they become friends. Sansa is pregnant and six months along when Dany takes the Iron throne. Sansa has found herself content being Oberyn’s wife, knows that though love isn’t going to spring up overnight, she might come to love him and his paramour eventually.  Of course she can’t help the jealous stab in her heart when they dance together, not jealousy over her husband but jealousy because she longs to be loved in the way he loves Ellaria….longs for that love but never seems to find it.

Aegon Targaryen is headstrong and sure of himself, and when he dances with Sansa he’s so beautiful it almost hurts her eyes. Her cousin (apparently he is her cousin after all) Jon Targaryen is set to marry Dany and thus Aegon needs a wife.  Sansa can see where this is going…but she is with child…and a child she wants very much and has no desire to give up. Oberyn promised he’d let her go should she want too…but their child would live in Sunspear with his family. Aegon is enamored of her and he’s the perfect prince towards her. She’s seen this act before and she thinks he’s probably not pretending…not everybody is another Joffrey in the world. Oberyn has taught her over time to trust him, to trust Ellaria and his family. Trust was not easy for her but she was learning to manage it again. Aegon wanted her but curiously she found as she gazed up at his beautiful face….she did not want him. She finds herself wanting Oberyn when she dances with Aegon, and much to her pleasure he catches her by the waist on the following turn and sweeps her away from his nephew with a sly wink in his direction as he does so.

               Sansa is so pleased to feel his hands on her waist that she tries not to cry. Oberyn questions her on this, feels the concern in him flaring to life and the swift temper sure to follow should Aegon have overstepped. She shakes it off, claims it as hormones of the pregnancy and that satisfies his concern for a little while. They dance and dance until her feet ache and he walks with her back to their private rooms, Sansa on his right arm and Ellaria on his left.  He holds her late into the night, makes love to her gently and she’s crying into her pillow and can’t even explain why…he hadn’t hurt her… she cries a lot lately and she thinks it’s just her hormones. Ellaria lies in front of her so she is spooned between them both, safe and warm.

“I think you weep from how good a lover or beloved is,” Ellaria smirks at Sansa and she giggles. Oberyn is in the bath and they can hear him chuckle mirthfully.

“I admit I’ve never had a woman cry while I made love to her,” Oberyn says thoughtfully, “Mayhaps it is because I have such a magnificent co—…” he doesn’t finish the sentence because he’s too busy dodging the towel that Ellaria tosses at him, laughing as he bates it away and grins at his lover and wife mischievously.

* * *

 

 

She gives him a son in the early morning of a summer day at the Water Gardens. She names him Oberyn, after his father, something her husband and Ellaria are pleased with very much. Years pass and she watches her son grow up along side four other of her children. Children who she named Rhaenys after Oberyn’s neice, Eddard after her Lord Father and Cateyln after her lady mother. Her youngest was called Nadira, the name Sansa had chosen all those years ago to hide herself from the world. Sansa hoped Nadira would be a warrior, would be brave and true. She hoped her daughter would wield a spear just like her father and be just as fierce. She wanted her children to be fierce and proud of their heritage.

It isn’t long until Arya pops up, out of the blue on a hot summer day while Sansa and Oberyn are in a very intimate position, Sansa sitting astride him with her head tilted back and her long red hair swaying in the warm summer breeze. Her hips rocking against his while his fingers gripped her hips and he hisses out his pleasure with her movements.

“By the seven!” Arya all but shouts and nearly falls into the pool when she sees them.

Ellaria is stirred from her nap beside her two lovers and isn’t completely decent herself. The family was mostly gone for the day, and they were well hidden under a shimmering sandstone colored tent, but from where Arya stood she had a full view.

The Sansa from years ago would have sprang off her husband so fast she’d have been not but a blurr of red in the summer breeze. Now she merely glances back at her sister, shock and joy in her face as she gently climbs off her husband and dresses.

“I’m sorry!” Arya says loud enough for them to hear as she turns away and tries to rub the image of her sister sitting astride the red viper in such a way from her eyes. He was one of her favorite stories….the red viper…the moment Jon told her Sansa was married to Oberyn Martell, the red viper…she begged him to fly her over to Sunspear on Rhaegal just so she could meet him.

Jon was a little ways down the beach with Rhaegal, so Arya didn’t worry about him being beholding the sight she just did. It wasn’t exactly the way she really wanted to meet the red viper.

“Arya!” Sansa said as she came running down the beach towards her and Jon. She was dressed again (thankfully) in Martell yellow, her red hair loose in the breeze.  Sansa wraps Arya in her arms and hugs her with all her might, joy and tears in her eyes at finally being reunited with her sister. They had thought her dead for so many years until she showed up at Winterfell looking for everyone.

It wasn’t long till her husband and his paramour followed, and together the four of them returned to the water gardens and sat by the pool, talking and laughing with one another. Arya got her wish of Oberyn teaching her to use a spear (much to her great joy) while Sansa finally got to tell Arya every last little thing she’d every wanted to tell her sister over the years they’d been separated. Most of it involved _I love you…I was such a terrible sister…I’m so sorry…_ but Arya forgave her regardless and the two had finally rebuilt the bridge between them once more.

They spent the rest of the day watching Arya get knocked on her backside (but not always…Arya was fast) and Sansa mused upon the husband she so dearly loves. Yes… _love_ …love came to her and Oberyn and Ellaria as well…just as her lady Mother had promised her all those years ago…they came to love each other and that was enough for Sansa.


End file.
